


Arcana

by LysanderandHermia, poetofthefall



Series: Toil and Trouble [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Arguing, Domesticity, Falling In Love, Gen, Kinda, Kissing, M/M, Non-Chronological, Slice of Life, Softness™, cruelty to newts - freeform, jim clings to reality with all his might, jim effortlessly proves that astrology is fake by being a canonical pisces, jim is still a criminal mastermind but like... lowkey, no way is this man a water sign, seb is multilingual, sebastian does magic, swifferTM, those quarters must have hurt going down - freeform, truth potion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29101365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LysanderandHermia/pseuds/LysanderandHermia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetofthefall/pseuds/poetofthefall
Summary: Jim remains a mystery to Sebastian Moran. He can’t quite get the fit of the man right, but overall, his impression is that Jim is a snarky, intelligent businessman who appears to do very little work when Sebastian’s around, but has no end to the fortune line on his right palm (his left one is almost impossible to find). Sebastian quite wishes he could study Jim’s hands more closely at some point.--Jim still isn't superstitious, and Sebastian still doesn't fit the look of a fortune teller. (Well, except for the reusable grocery bags.)
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty
Series: Toil and Trouble [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135232
Kudos: 3





	1. The Emperor, Reversed

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely based off of 'Tarot', but also vaguely based off of twelve hour long ramblings about Witch!Seb from our drive back from Yellowstone. Chapters are not chronological, and although they take place in the same universe, they're mostly unconnected to each other, just for the sake of avoiding confusion! 
> 
> Please feel free to request any drabbles or scenes, we absolutely adore this silly to moderate AU.
> 
> \--
> 
> Unbeta'd, we die like men.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sebastian meets Moriarty.
> 
> The Emperor, Reversed - power, authority, tyranny, stubbornness, cruelty; "In the reversed position, the Emperor can be domineering and rigid in his thinking. The card can suggest an over-use and abuse of authoritative power surrounding you. "

Jim is still more than a bit of a mystery to Sebastian Moran. He can’t quite get the fit of him right, but overall, his impression is that Jim is a snarky, intelligent businessman who appears to do very little work when Sebastian’s around, but has no end to the fortune line on his right palm (his left one is almost impossible to find). Sebastian quite wishes he could study Jim’s hands more closely at some point. He also wants to do a more thorough reading – if the tarot cards were anything to go by, Jim has led an interesting life, and it's only growing more intriguing as time marches forwards. 

He considers this as the man in question stands outside of his door, stamping his feet against the cold and complaining loudly for Sebastian to let him in. Sebastian is a rather private person, and doesn’t usually invite people into his home, but he stands back after a moment and waves the shorter man inside. The door clicks closed behind them and warmth slowly suffuses the air once more. “Hullo, Jim, what brings you to this side of London so late?” Sebastian asks, voice smooth as the whiskey he’s been sipping throughout the evening. He pushes down the uncomfortable feeling at having someone in his home and breezes past Jim, casually shutting his bedroom door and moving into the kitchen.

Jim trails after him, unbundling the scarf from around his neck and pausing at the countertop, gazing around the kitchen with more than a spark of interest in his eyes. Sebastian mentally thinks over their previous encounters and tries to find the time and place that he disclosed his home address to the man. Was he  _ followed  _ home? He smiles as he rummages in his cabinet for some earl grey tea bags. If Jim thinks he can get the better of him somehow-- well, he’s never dealt with a witch before. Certainly not one that does the kind of work he does – no, not fortune telling, but the stuff that  _ actually _ pays his bills. If Jim seems put off by Sebastian’s nonchalance at being found at his home, he doesn’t show it. 

So, that’s how it’s going to be, is it? 

“I’m sure by now you realize that I’m a rather important man,” Jim starts, and Sebastian turns from the cupboard to raise an eyebrow at him, “Not trying to be boastful, my dear, just stating the facts as they are,” Jim continues, lifting his hands in a half shrug, “And I have an… interest, in what you claim to do as a wizard.”

“Witch,” Sebastian corrects, the way he’s done for years, with everyone. What is it with people and being confused by the concept of a male witch? Having different genitals does not a witch or wizard make. Wizards aren’t real. It’s that simple. 

Jim flaps a hand, irritated at being interrupted, “Whatever. Sooo,” he singsongs, “What I would like is to pay you a flat fee to just… talk. Consult, on occasion. I have some… tests I’d like to do.”

Sebastian turns back to the cupboard, pulling down the box he’s been looking for, and sets out two mugs, “These tests, do they involve getting poked like a lab rat? And the consulting?”

Smiling easily, Jim slips onto the barstool at Sebastian’s center island counter, “Nothing untoward, just questions about business arrangements or myself, nothing about other people, if  _ spying _ isn’t your thing. No lab rat business, I’m just… curious.” Jim falls silent, then, and Sebastian glances at him as he pours from the kettle. The man somehow fits into the dishevelment of the kitchen, dressed in a suit worth more than Sebastian’s entire closet, but he looks both annoyed and determined as he gazes about the room. Not for the first time, Sebastian wonders if magic as it’s been presented to him doesn’t fit with his worldview, and when he might start believing. 

“About magic,” Sebastian decides to clarify, moving to rummage in the fridge and retrieve milk. He pours in splashes of it into each mug, then adds several lumps of sugar to one, stirring both.

“Ye-es,” Jim agrees, drawing out the word and rolling his head on his shoulders, “About ‘magic’. I’m interested to see what the, ah,  _ limits _ of your capabilities are.” He smiles blandly, “For example, how much you can find out about a complete stranger, oooor, what else you can ‘divine’ about me, if you don’t feel you’re up for such a challenge.” There’s a gleam in Jim’s eye, as Sebastian joins him at the counter, and Sebastian slides the tea across to him. Jim doesn’t look away, but scootches the mug back towards Sebastian a few inches, “I take three sugars.”

Sebastian raises his own mug to his lips and smiles across the steam wafting up at the man, “I know,” he says, watching Jim take the mug up again and give it a cursory sniff. He sips, then hums and sets the mug down, as if affronted by it, and Sebastian continues, “I’m up for a challenge, so long as it isn’t something illegal,” he says carefully.

Jim smiles just as carefully back, “Nothing of the sort. This is strictly personal. However, I know that your, ah, skills, are not free, and I am more than happy to pay you for your time.” 

He’s used to skepticism, and takes no offense to it, but Sebastian raises an amused eyebrow all the same, “Alright,” he agrees, after a moment, deciding that at the very least, he can get to know the interesting man sitting across from him a bit better if Jim wants to pay him to hang around occasionally. Jim has come by his booth in the market square nearly every week for a few months, showing up out of the blue and demanding a reading, or asking Sebastian increasingly arbitrary questions. He even came with flash cards once and quizzed him on potion ingredients (several of which were not actual potion ingredients – raven’s brain? That’ll make someone sick, Jim). 

Giving Sebastian a large smile, Jim raises his mug to Sebastian, “Slàinte Mhaith.”

\--

The two unlikely associates have been getting together for lunches, coffees, and what Sebastian would normally call ‘hanging out’ time for several weeks, when Jim suddenly disappears for a month. No texts go through to his number, showing up at his office turns up no leads, and Sebastian is left wondering if it was something he said, or if Jim is truly one of those almost-insane geniuses that you read about. 

He carries on with his life, though it nags in the back of his mind as the days drag on. It just seems… strange. Why go through all of the effort to enlist his expertise in the ways of magic and then ghost him? It would make far much more sense to just end their arrangement if it wasn’t working out for some reason. 

Sebastian has just about giving up checking his phone every other day for a text from the strange man when he turns up at his house unannounced, as if absolutely nothing in the world is wrong or has changed, just asks Sebastian for a cuppa and to please explain exactly how phrenology works. The witch is so confused by this departure and subsequent return to the reality he’s grown used to that he simply launches into an explanation of the racist hack science of feeling people’s heads, and tries and fails to find an appropriate time to say something along the lines of, ‘Hey, where the fuck did you go for a whole month?’. Instead, Jim’s phone begins working again and Sebastian just… sort of rolls with it. It’s hard, in general, to shake him, and before much longer has passed, they’re back to a more regular schedule of meeting up two or three times a week to discuss different magical concepts. 

He finds himself looking forward to their outings, and realizes after they’ve been in a groove for a couple of months that he’s starting to think of Jim more as a friend than someone who pays him to debate magical philosophy, technique, history, and technicalities. 

\--

They’re supposed to meet up for brunch on Thursday that week, when Jim doesn’t turn up. After half an hour, Sebastian tries texting him. It’s a fancy brunch place, and he feels rather conspicuous in his attire – everyone around him seems to work in a nice office or better, and here he is in a patched oversized sweater and jeans. The text goes through, but there’s no reply, so Sebastian relaxes slightly. Before when Jim suddenly didn’t turn up, it was almost like he stopped existing.

He waits a few more minutes, then gives up and escapes the awkward glances of other patrons and the impatient server, who keeps stopping by to try and get him to order. Maybe he simply forgot? Jim has to do work occasionally, so maybe he got wrapped up in a project or something.

Jim’s office is on the way back to his bus stop, so Sebastian decides to swing by. When he approaches the front receptionist’s desk, the same lady that ignored him completely for the two weeks he attempted to reach and find Jim gives him a warm smile and asks if she can help him with directions somewhere. “Uh, no, I’m actually looking for Jim? We had a lunch meeting…” he trails off when he sees her expression, somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

“He forgot an appointment with you,” she restates, voice flat, and Sebastian frowns and nods. She hums noncommittally and turns back to her computer. Sebastian stands there for a few moments, trying to decide what to do, but as he opens his mouth to say something to her, she waves a hand at him, gesturing towards the elevator doors behind her that are sliding open, “He’ll see you now,” she says, voice bored and polite once more, so Sebastian rolls his eyes and heads for the lift, “Says he’s just wrapping up with a client, but that you can just go on in. Nice to meet you, Mr. Kandinsky.” 

Sebastian leans against the side of the elevator, responding in an equally flat and bored voice, “Not my name,” he says, as the doors slide closed and she spins in her chair, something like surprise bordering on shock in her expression. Whatever; if she made a mistake, she can own up to it. Sebastian has half a mind to tell Jim his receptionist sucks anyways. The elevator goes up and up; just as Sebastian wonders if he’s going to run out of floors, it slows and slides open into a large room. 

A giant U of tables fit together, power outlets staged at regular intervals along the smooth mahogany. There’s an enormous projector on the far end of the room, and a smaller table off to one side, near the large, floor to ceiling windows. It’s there that he spots Jim, talking with another man. Well, he says talking. Jim seems to be nearly yelling, though in what language, Sebastian is hard pressed to say. He approaches slowly, starting to wonder if maybe the receptionist’s expression had been for a good reason. 

A four beat trill goes off in the otherwise quiet room, and Jim holds up a hand impatiently as the man tries to speak, pulling out his phone. Sebastian continues advancing, and the man sitting on the other side of the table spots him, pleading at him with his eyes. For what, Sebastian can only hazard a guess.

“What does she mean, not…” he hears Jim mutter, before he turns, and takes in Sebastian, now only a dozen paces away. Sebastian can see several expressions flicker over Jim’s face before it becomes impassive. No- impassive is the wrong word. Sebastian can see nothing behind Jim’s dark eyes, no spark, just hollow holes. It’s like looking at someone already dead, someone that doesn’t care about anything in the world.

“No matter!” He says brightly, clapping his hands and turning back to the man, “Mr. Turgenev doesn’t speak a  _ lick _ of English, so Sebastian, you’re here to help me right now. Do your best and look as imposing as you can in that garish sweater, now, won’t you?” Jim’s tone does not match the words he’s speaking, but he glances back at Sebastian for just a moment, his expression is clear:  _ I know you don’t know what’s happening but do NOT fuck this up for me _ . 

Sebastian truly does not know what’s happening, but he  _ does  _ know that the room is practically vibrating with the strength of Jim’s aura, and it’s darker than Sebastian’s ever seen it. The only reason this is remarkable because a uras, as a rule, do not change color. Ever.

As Jim lapses back into what Sebastian now heavily suspects is Russian and sits down again, he shifts to stand just behind Jim’s shoulder, glaring down at the man. He folds his arms and shifts his weight from side to side, and even goes so far as to crack his knuckles menacingly when Jim pauses and a long silence starts to stretch out. 

It’s hard to stay focused on the other man though, because even though he doesn’t understand the conversation, he can hear Jim’s tone and inflection. To say the man is skilled with his speech is a gross understatement, and Sebastian finds himself staring at the side of Jim’s face more than once, enthralled with the way the heavy syllables fall from his mouth and the way he switches breezily from sing-song to threatening. 

Mr. Turgenev seems just as snake-charmed, so Sebastian hopes it doesn’t matter too much that he forgets to look menacing on several occasions. The entire altercation only lasts two more minutes at most, but for Sebastian it could have been hours; not to say that it was boring – far from it. He’s never seen Jim like this, had no idea that it was something he was even capable of.

It isn’t until the other man pulls out his cheque book and scribbles out a note, stands, bows hastily, and then walks as quickly as is polite to the elevator that Sebastian realizes just how intimidating Jim is. He glimpses the amount on the piece of paper before Jim slips it away into his pocket, before his eyes slide to the man. In his third eye (which isn't actually an eye, merely a different way of looking at the world), Sebastian can barely see Jim, he’s so dark. His aura is nearly devoid of color, only the smallest hints of greens and browns visible at the edges and towards the center. 

Jim snaps Sebastian out of his examination by asking him a question, and Sebastian shakes his head to clear it. “Sorry, what?” 

“I said,” Jim says, voice tighter than normal, “Did that idiot girl downstairs send you up without asking for your name?” 

Sebastian wonders just what type of business Jim does that involves yelling at someone for a few minutes and getting a cheque for a quarter million pounds, and nods, “She assumed I was someone named Kandinsky,” he answers, and Jim taps his fingertips against his lips thoughtfully. 

“Interesting,” he murmurs, staring out the window, “Seems I’ll have to find replacements for both of them.” His tone shifts abruptly, and he meets Sebastian’s eyes in the reflection on the glass, “What are you doing here, anyways?” 

Huffing with his hands on his hips, Sebastian grouses, “You stood me up for lunch, asshole,” he says, voice wavering just slightly as the words slip out before he realizes he’s said them. He just watched someone a couple of weight class above  himself (and about three above Jim) get completely reamed out by the man.

Jim stares at him, then throws his head back and laughs, “Ah, it’s Thursday. My apologies, Seb, I lost track of the days. Have you eaten? Here, let me take you somewhere to make up for it, and as a thank you. Have you done any acting before? You did pretty well, pretending to be my security.” He continues talking all the way into the elevator, and Sebastian once again can only roll with it as best he can, trying to keep up. Jim fires the receptionist on their way out, and rather rudely, if you ask Sebastian (which no one does). 

\--

Later, as they’re finishing up lunch, Sebastian takes a moment to concentrate and slips into his other vision, checking in on Jim’s aura. It’s wavy and peaceful now, no black to be seen, only soft greens and browns as it always has been when he’s checked before. He doesn’t know what to make of it, but he does know that Jim when angry is terrifying on more than one plane of existence, and endeavors to never get on his bad side.


	2. Seven of Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim is swept off his feet.
> 
> Seven of Swords - trickery, scheming, stealthiness, cunning; "There are instances when we are forced to be sneaky, hoping that we will not be discovered. When we are found out, we have to face the consequences."

Jim is very good at reading people. He can figure out what they like, hate, would kill for, and sometimes even their favorite breed of dog. It’s why Sebastian absolutely drives him up the wall. The impromptu tarot reading should have given Jim a plethora of knowledge about how Sebastian thought, give him some intel into his psyche, even tipped him off as to what Sebastian was _actually_ getting out of the encounter (because he never did ask him for money, just thanked him and told him he’d see him around). Nothing.

Sebastian is still as much of a bloody mystery as he was the day they met, and Jim has been dropping by for tidbits of advice and vague fortune telling for months now, trying to find him out as the fraud he has to be. Because magic isn’t real. Sebastian Moran is not actually able to see the future, or cure ailments with potions and salves.

He would've had it, too. He thought showing up unannounced would catch Sebastian unawares, watching news reports or meeting with contacts, like Jim had, around the city. Of course, however, he steps through into the nondescript bungalow on the edge of London, greeted with a sweet smell coming from the kitchen and a Swiffer® mopping across the floor in the entryway. Jim stares at it for a full ten seconds, trying to figure out how it’s happening. Clever robotics? Wires and strings? Even as he moves closer, Jim can tell that neither of these options are the case.

Stepping further into the house and carefully around the mop, Jim snooped further, nudging open what turned out to be the man’s bedroom – woefully messy, and absolutely as nondescript as the rest of the place – before he continued down the hallway. He made it to the kitchen, then stopped, eyes widening even further at what he sees.

Sebastian, an enigma to James Moriarty, Criminal Mastermind, is dancing like an absolute donut in his kitchen, swinging a wooden spatula around and humming a tune he’s never heard but that sounds like a vaguely half-remembered dream. Jim watches, mouth open in surprise and amusement.

Unaware of the intruder in his home, Sebastian continues to dance, reaching up above his head to snap off dried pieces of flowers and herbs (Jim never got into botany so it’s hard to tell at a glance) to drop into the pot he has simmering on the stove, where the sweet, soft smell is coming from. Sebastian leans over the pot and gives it a stir, his hips wiggling, and Jim reaches up to cover his own mouth, trying to hide the smile that springs to his face. Oh, god, what is wrong with him? Why is he suddenly finding this fellow trickster so endearing? It has to be the stupid dancing.

The self-proclaimed witch reaches out over the pot and half sings a few words, and Jim’s eyes refocus on what he’s doing, watching for sleight of hand – why, a question at the back of his mind perks up, would he be bothering with sleight of hand if he doesn’t know you’re here, anyways? – or anything else that could be contributing to the… Jim can’t think of calling it anything else but a _brew_. It's fucking bubbling. He sees nothing happen, but the moment Sebastian finishes his sing-song sentence, the smell of the mixture shifts sharply, and Jim coughs at the sudden sharp, slightly bitter smell that hits him.

His cough makes Sebastian jump and turn around quickly, brandishing his wooden spoon like a weapon and stare in wide eyes of surprise as he recognizes Jim, who’s just stepped backwards and tripped himself over the Swiffer® that cleaned its way down the hall behind him.


	3. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim enjoys the vaguely labeled, shady tin of tea at the back of Sebastian's cabinet.
> 
> Justice - honesty, integrity, truth, accountability, consequence, cause and effect; "Learn the truth about yourself and others, speak and know the truth before passing judgement."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> currently we are prompting each other for these, but the catch is if they aren't written on the same day the word count doubles exponentially. as you can see, i fucked up so enjoy 4k of dweebs bein cute.

Upon asking Jim and Sebastian exactly how they wound up being so twined up in each other’s lives after only knowing each other for several months, neither would have been able to accurately explain. It just so happened that Sebastian started showing up at Jim’s office when he didn’t have anything going on and the two of them would wander off for Jim’s lunch hour and they would both wind up forgetting that he had to go back (Jim was apparently the head of his own company so Sebastian didn’t worry too much, though he also tried not to make a huge habit out of it, as Jim never seemed particularly inclined to return to his office once he’d shown up). It also so happened that Jim would rather regularly turn up at Sebastian’s small bungalow and spend hours poking around his house, digging through boxes of rocks and crystals, googling herbs and generally plodding about the kitchen and getting himself in Sebastian’s way.

Very frequently in the past month, Jim has wound up crashing on Sebastian’s couch, and has finally, upon promises from Sebastian that he won’t pry, even brought over his work laptop and worked from Sebastian’s sitting room.

Their pattern this week has consisted of Sebastian running supplies to different herb shops and getting things for himself that he can’t forage, Jim occasionally accompanying him but more often staying back and working from Sebastian’s couch, and then in the afternoons joining Sebastian in the kitchen. Jim sits at the countertops, tapping away at his keyboard, and Sebastian shifts about the kitchen brewing and cooking (never at the same time), making special orders and restocking his own supplies. Jim plays soft music from the computer and Sebastian improvises hummed and whistled accompaniment. Neither of them will admit it but the whole thing is rather… domestic, especially when Sebastian suggests homemade margherita pizza for dinner and Jurassic Park to wind down the evening.

Jim helps with the pizza – Sebastian has been rather successfully showing him how to knead bread (a lot of magic, apparently works best in either teas or in breads, he’s discovered) – and before long, they’re eating and cheering on the dinosaurs on the screen. Sebastian even relents and makes popcorn, an event that Jim watches with wide eyes because Sebastian doesn’t have a microwave and instead uses a wok to pop the kernels. Most of Sebastian’s popcorn ends up thrown at the telly screen, however, especially when plexiglass keeps two children from being brutally murdered by a rampaging tyrannosaurus.

Sebastian leaves Jim sprawled on his half of the couch after he falls asleep towards the end of the movie, making sure his old Goodwill score of a multicolored and super-soft throw is in place on the back of the couch for when Jim inevitably wakes up cold later in the night, and heads off to bed himself. Tomorrow is the weekend, and he fully intends on sleeping in. Jim knows his way around his home well enough by now and is over enough that Sebastian doesn’t feel the need to play host 24/7 to him anymore. If he wants to leave in the morning, he can and will, as he’s done in the past.

\--

Jim wakes up with his alarm sadly beeping at him from the floor and manages to slap it underneath the couch as he turns it off, and in response to such an affront so immediately at seven am, rolls over on the narrow space and goes straight back to sleep. He rarely sleeps, but for whatever reason, he doesn’t seem to have trouble drifting off at Sebastian’s, a concept he’s devoted several waking hours to ruminating on. Perhaps it’s the coziness of the place, compared to Jim’s flat, that he rarely relaxes in and uses as a secondary office more often than anything else. Maybe it’s the warm, comforting smells that always seem to blend and mix pleasantly from the kitchen, a mishmash of baked goods, sharp herbs and something that has the same undertone feeling that hot cocoa on a chilly day has. It could, possibly, he’s willing to admit, be Sebastian and the fact that he is a charming and safe and good person and someone that Jim feels more comfortable around than he does when he’s by himself.

Whatever the reason, Jim sleeps in until the sunlight creeping slowly across the floor from the window manages to scramble up the side of the couch and settle over him, beaming cheerfully. Sitting up, he rubs at his face and goes stumbling to the bathroom, then the kitchen after washing his face and brushing his teeth (he doesn’t stop to question why Sebastian would have bought an extra toothbrush for him, it just _makes sense_ ). He rummages around in Sebastian’s tea cabinet while the water boils, searching for something to perk him up, because Sebastian is a heathen and doesn’t have coffee. He finds several of Sebastian’s own blends towards the back and carefully reads the labels and ingredients. None of them look particularly “witchy” so he decides they’re safe for casual consumption and takes his time sniffing each. One is certainly herbal only, with flowery notes, and gets shoved back where it came from. The other two he debates on for a while. One is chocolatey and smells a little spicy, and the other smells delicious with something he can’t quite place, almost saline in nature.

He winds up choosing the second one, and measures out a few teaspoons of the stuff into the little tea strainer shaped like a dinosaur and pours hot water in over it. Immediately, the smell hits him, and he smiles despite how grumpy he feels. It smells a bit like the countryside, and a bit like his favorite chai, and a little bit like Sebastian, and he cradles the cup in his hands and wanders out onto Sebastian’s back deck to sip the tea and soak in the sunshine.

It’s the best cup of tea he’s had in years. It tastes… _perfect_ , somehow. He finds himself thinking back to good moments when he was younger, and recent successes at work, and by the time he’s finished his tea, he’s in a much better mood. Even the birds screaming in the morning sunshine don’t bother him. Maybe it _was_ magical tea after all. Regardless of the reason, when Jim wanders back inside and finds that Sebastian still isn’t up, he sets about making more tea, this time enough for both of them, and doesn’t even find himself minding all that much.

He measures out more of the delicious tea and takes stock of the time on the stove for steeping purposes and goes wandering further into the house to find Sebastian. The bathroom door is still standing open and there is no sound in the house, so Jim beelines for his bedroom, knocking on the door and smirking when he hears a muffled “mhnyea?” from inside.

Jim pokes his head around the door, grinning widely at the witch still curled up in bed, half sitting up and with his hair sticking out in all directions, “Sleepyhead, I made tea for us,” he says, by way of greeting.

“Wha’ time ‘sit?” Sebastian asks sleepily, though he musters the energy to sit fully up and rub at his eyes with his fists. Jim creeps a bit further into the room, never having been able to get a good look around before. Sebastian’s closet has maybe fifteen whole outfits in it, but most of his room is covered in bookshelves stuffed to capacity, and there are a lot of sketches pinned to the walls, mostly of plants but Jim spies a few that seem to have been drawn at London Zoo, if their subjects are anything to go by.

Jim hums, intending on taking a moment to respond and buy himself some time, but instead, he says, “I’ve always wanted a look in here, though, it’s rather underwhelming now that I’ve finally gotten more than a glimpse of it,” he glances at Sebastian, who is blinking at him and looks like a sleepy idiot, then sighs, “It’s ten thirty.”

“ _Past ten_?” Sebastian asks, though he doesn’t actually seem upset, but more surprised and self-satisfied. “Excellent,” he continues, stretching and finally stepping out of bed – Jim notes that he sleeps in only briefs, and watches on unashamed as Sebastian just as unashamedly slips on sweatpants and a faded Pink Floyd tee, “I was hoping to sleep in and that you’d still be here.”

“I was hoping you’d want me to be here,” Jim quips back, blinking in surprise at himself but acting as though nothing is out of the ordinary by the words, “I mean, it’s the weekend. We can actually go do something fun for the day.”

Sebastian flashes Jim a smile, unplugging his phone and checking the notifications, “Well, since you’ve _always_ wanted a look in here, can I ask what, exactly, you were expecting to find?”

Jim moves further into the room – Sebastian’s words are as good as permission in his book, and he scans the sketches tacked on the walls more closely, eyes shifting to the bookshelves and names on the spines of books, “Oh, I was hoping for deep dark secrets. Severed heads, or some pentagrams. Maybe a book on ‘how to fool idiots with magical nonsense’. Any deep dark secret will…do…” Jim trails off, eyes finding the corner of a picture frame underneath several large sheets of sketching paper, bearing stripes of tigers and fierce cat eyes, loping forms in motion, and he peels them backwards to peer at the framed wall hanging. There isn’t anything else stuck to the walls in a frame. “Oh, _my_ , Sebastian, a Master’s?” He turns to regard the man, who looks rather bemused and embarrassed, “You have a _Master’s_ in English?”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in,” Sebastian snarks, but Jim can easily see the humor underneath the words, “Years of my life down the drain, blah blah blah, what am I going to do, _teach_ with it?” He shrugs as he pulls on a lightweight knit sweater over his tee, “I never was really interested in University, but I was told I _needed_ a degree, so. I got the most ‘useless’ one I could out of spite.”

Jim laughs, delighted, “Come now, Sebastian, I’m sure it wasn’t all that bad, getting such a degree. You must have liked it a bit, if you spent extra years studying it. Still, I’m disappointed. As far as deep dark secrets go, this falls rather short.” He lets the sketches obscure the frame once more, then turns on his heel to lead the way back towards the kitchen, remembering the tea, “You simply must do better in the future.”

Sebastian follows, hopping as he pulls on his final sock, “So sorry that my failure as a student doesn’t live up to your expectations,” he laughs, stepping into the bathroom.

“You can’t call yourself a failure when you have a _Master’s degree_ , you idiot!” Jim yells back before the door shuts. He’s satisfied, though, because he hears muffled laughter before the tap starts running.

Jim returns to the kitchen and pulls out the tea strainers, tidying up a bit from the mess he’d made in his sleepy stupor, and sits at the breakfast nook to sip his second cup. It’s just as delicious as the first, and he makes himself sip slowly, savoring it.

Sebastian joins him before long, looking much more awake than he had, and smiles at his friend as a mug of tea is slid across the counter towards him, “Since you’re such an expert on deep dark secrets, why don’t you share yours? We could start with your company – from what I’ve seen, you don’t seem to actually _make_ anything. Money laundering?” He hazards a guess, tone good natured.

Jim scoffs at him, “Oh please, that’s child’s play. No, I’m afraid if I told you my deep dark secrets, Sebastian, you wouldn’t want me in your house, let alone be my friend,” he pulls an exaggerated mopey face, before sipping more at his tea. “But, since you asked, I dabble in a lot of things, most of them illegal. How’s that for a deep dark secret?”

He doesn’t notice Sebastian’s face, or his sudden interest in his tea as he takes a sip; the way he lifts it to his mouth and inhales slowly, nor the way he takes a second smaller sip and seems to swirl it around his mouth, taste testing it. “Jim,” Sebastian ventures, after a moment, setting down his mug, “You got this tea out of the tea cupboard, right?”

“Of course I did,” Jim says, perking up at the topic, “It’s amazing, by the way, I had no idea that eye of newt would actually taste good.” He sips from his cup again, humming contentedly, before frowning at Sebastian, “It’s… not, like, poison or something, right? I didn’t know what it was called on the label.”

Sebastian manages to keep from laughing, but he does break into a grin, “No, it’s not poison, and by the way, eye of newt is just fancy witch talk for mustard seeds. However,” he adds, moving over to the tea cupboard and rummaging to find the jar that he now knows must have gotten mixed in there, “This tea isn’t supposed to be in here.” He turns back to see Jim frowning suspiciously at his cup.

“I’ve noticed, Sebastian, that you haven’t told me what I’ve just drunk, and this is my second cup.” He looks at him sternly, “Am I about to lose my memories from before I was five or something? What’s the big idea, putting something that isn’t tea into the tea cupboard?”

Raising his hands in surrender, Sebastian argues back, “I didn’t know it was in there, Jim, or it would have been elsewhere! You’ll be fine. It’s אֶמֶת. I had wondered where my stash had gone, it’s hard to make.”

Jim gives Sebastian a very unimpressed look, “What is that, Arabic? I don’t know what that means,” he says, reaching over and taking the jar, looking over the ingredients again and then at the label’s name, written in a curved script with triplicate dots under two of the letters.

Before he can pull out his phone to do a search online like he usually does when he comes across something he doesn’t understand, Sebastian clarifies, “No, not Arabic. It’s Hebrew. It means ‘Truth’.” He watches Jim’s face as the man stiffens, then looks very slowly up at Sebastian, something deeply suspicious and betrayed in his face.

“You made me drink a _truth potion_ ,” he says, voice flat of any sort of emotion.

Sebastian frowns, but shakes his head, trying to give Jim a smile despite how unnerved he feels at Jim’s sudden drop in tone, “I mean, technically, _you_ made you drink a truth _tea_ ,” he holds his hands up as Jim sets down his cup with a hard knock against the counter, “But chill, Jim, I’m not going to ask you for like, your bank account info or something, geez. What kind of person do you think I am?”

“The kind that might have been playing the long con game from the start, acting all cute and stupid but really being a conniving bastard this whole time.” Jim says, voice icy, though panic creeps in towards the end, “Fuck me, it really works, doesn’t it?” The witch in front of him stares at him for a long moment, as if calculating something, then sighs and sits down on the other barstool, raising the tea to his lips and taking a long sip. Jim blinks at him, frowning, “What are you doing? That’s the same tea.”

Nodding, Sebastian reaches for a bagel in the center bread basket and sets about buttering it up, “Yeah, and it’s expensive and hard to make, I’m not wasting it. Besides, I figured if I drank it too, you might chill out a bit. You sound like you think I lost it on purpose. And what’s with drinking shit you’re not sure about? I keep things separated, but really, Jim, you should have thought that through a little more.” He gives Jim a long look, taking another drink of his tea and appraising the man’s expression. He looks more than a little angry, “It _will_ make you feel better if I drink this though, won’t it?”

“I didn’t think that anything in your tea cupboard was magical, Sebastian,” Jim snaps in response, folding his arms in front of him, frustrated. He should really just leave and spend his day back at his own flat until the blasted thing wears off, but, well. His shoulders sag a bit, and he huffs out a breath, “Yes, it will,” he grudges, then straightens a bit, looking down at his own mug rather quizzically. “It will?” He asks again, after a moment, looking back up at Sebastian.

Jim’s expressions have sent Sebastian on a veritable rollercoaster in the last thirty seconds, but he manages to smile reassuringly instead of affectionately at Jim’s kicked puppy expression, “Seems so,” he agrees, “I don’t know that for sure, but that’s how truth potions work, if you ask a question, the person will answer to the best of their knowledge. So I suppose my hunch was right.” He looks rather upset for a moment, “Besides, it’s only fair. It’s not going to wear off on you for a few hours and you didn’t really consent to it.”

“I’m sure that most people truth teas are for typically aren’t consenting to it,” Jim says wryly, and Sebastian manages a bark of a laugh, and nods, conceding that particular point rather quickly. Jim leans forward, turning the mug in his hands back and forth, “So, no asking life altering secrets of each other?”

Sebastian smiles at Jim over the rim of his mug, “No, only deeply embarrassing ones. Say, would you mind telling me something silly you did as a child? You know, like eating legos or stealing from a 50p shop? If you like the taste – which you should, if I brewed it properly – you can finish it. It doesn’t get stronger the more you drink.”

Jim’s mouth opens in shock, “Y-You can’t just _demand_ to know about something like that! I have carried the embarrassment of eating all of my change when I was six so no one else could have it for _decades_ , an-“ he cuts himself off, mortified, and covers his mouth with his hand, glaring at Sebastian, who is laughing. “You fucking cunt,” he snarls, and Sebastian laughs harder, enough that he sloshes a bit of tea into his own lap, making Jim’s snarl turn into an upturned smirk, “And you, Sebastian? What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

Sebastian stops laughing after that, though, after a truce is called over embarrassing moments and deep dark secrets, the laughter picks up again, from both parties.

Jim does end up finishing his tea, and Sebastian makes himself another cup after a little while, because his tastes delicious as well (he doesn’t tell Jim, but it smells and tastes different for everyone) and it’s not like they have anything to do on a lazy Saturday. Jim finds out exactly how many times and how closely Sebastian came to getting expelled from Eton, and even he can’t find fault in how impressive the score is. Sebastian learns several of Jim’s favorite things and why he hates the catholic church so explicitly. They argue over which dinosaur is best and both end up revealing terribly mundane but charming things about themselves.

Sebastian’s favorite part of the day is when, halfway through a story (unbeknownst to him, heavily redacted and altered to be suitable for polite company), Jim suddenly says that he wants to go to the zoo with him sometime so that he can watch Sebastian sketch, and goes on a long ramble about how much he likes the art he saw on his walls. It’s not that Jim’s talking about him and complimenting him that makes it his favorite part, but how unashamed Jim seems talking honestly about their relationship. “…It’s like this, Sebastian, if you knew how much I loved feeding pigeons over in Trafalgar Square on my downer days, you’d be showing up all the time at my place – granted, if I _told_ you where my place was – with birdseed and walking shoes and we’d just go and sit for hours and it would be so nice, so I think it’s only fair to go with you to do fun things _you_ like, like sketching tigers and bears and other such furry little creatures and I could people watch and critique you, and it’d be _nice…”_

Jim’s favorite part of the day is when he gets into asking Sebastian several lengthy questions and answers about witchcraft and he hits on the day they’d met, and asks him why he’d spoken to him in the market, and why he’d read him his fortune, and Sebastian goes very red in the face and stumbles around a non-answer very cleverly until Jim asks much more directly about it. It’s the red in the face part that makes it Jim’s favorite, but also what Sebastian says about him, because he is, at heart, a very vain creature and it’s incredibly nice and lovely to feel the way Sebastian makes him feel over the next few minutes. “…It’s just that I had noticed you the week before and I told myself, Sebastian, if he comes by again, you have to talk to him, at least for a minute, and then you went along with me and sat down and let me read for you, and your cards were just… just _intriguing_ and _weird_ and _complicated_ and I’ve never read something like that before, and I thought, now Sebastian, here is someone worth getting to know, and he’s gorgeous to boot…”

It isn’t until Jim complains that he’s hungry that they realize how late it’s gotten, or that the truth potion they’d drunk had to have worn off at least two hours ago by Sebastian’s estimation, which meant that they’d just been talking openly with each other. Both agreed that it was all in all a very lovely time, though Sebastian apologized again for the tea being misplaced and Jim apologized for being so suspicious at the time.

They go out for the evening to a pub and chow down on fish and chips and some good beer, ribbing each other good naturedly as usual. Sebastian doesn’t even make a fuss when the waitress says the fish are fried in sunflower oil and orders a double helping of fries, sharing with Jim when he inevitably decides later that he rather did wish he’d ordered some for himself.

Neither of them realized until much later that the truth potion had been what really pushed them closer together, though once they did realize it, they both argued that the other should have seen the connection much sooner. Either way, it didn’t take long after spending the day in the kitchen with Jim talking about all sorts of things for Sebastian to grow bold and lean over one evening while Jim was kneading bread and complaining about his day to plant a kiss on his shoulder.

It took even less time for Jim to snark that he’d missed the mark and plant a kiss back on his mouth, and for them to argue their way into a snogging session on the floured countertop. Sebastian refused to let them have a go at it right there in the kitchen, because “that’s where I _cook and do business shit, Jim_ ,” but made it up to the Irishman by carrying him to the bedroom. He later had to make up dropping him unceremoniously on the bed, but Jim eventually forgave him for that too.


	4. Page of Swords, Reversed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sebastian and Jim argue about what space is for.
> 
> Page of Swords, Reversed - cynicism, sarcasm, rudeness, defensiveness; "This card can indicate a person who uses their wit for the wrong reasons."

“For the last fucking time, Jim, I’m a _witch_ , not a wizard, and it’s _astrology_ that I use in my work!” Sebastian’s voice is strained, and Jim can locate the humor under the weight of frustration in the man’s tone.

On Jim’s part, he does his best to affect a very honest and confused expression, “But you were talking about constellations the other week, Sebastian! I thought you’d really find this helpful!” He tries again to hand over the book he’d brought with him. It’s got a very fantastic cover, complete with a planet in the lower right full of swirling vortexes of color. _Astronomy: A Beginner’s Guide to the Universe_ is written across the top in a friendly, unassuming font. Sebastian seems quite unamused. “I really did think you’d like it,” he says, tone taking on what, in his opinion, is the perfect amount of distressed.

Scoffing, Sebastian takes the book, turning it over in his hands and then flipping it open to a random page, raising an eyebrow as he skims the paragraph next to a beautiful photograph of a nebula, “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing and talking about. I _know_ you know the difference between astrology and astronomy because you were telling me last week how stupid you thought basing all of your actions off star positions was.”

Jim takes the opportunity to hide a smirk while Sebastian scans the book, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking backwards onto his heels. “Oh,” he sing-songs, “I do know what I’m doing. You’d be much better off filling your head with nice _scientific_ facts, not mumbo-jumbo about what me being a Pisces means for my financial health and future.”

Predictably, Sebastian scoffs at him, and Jim breezes further past him into the man’s home, finding his way to the kitchen and making himself comfortable. Sebastian follows him back and watches Jim busy himself with putting the kettle on. “You’re really going to argue that magic still isn’t real after getting tripped by my Swiffer months ago? Or any of the other countless ways I’ve tried to prove it to you?”

“Please. Those are all very elaborate and very grand tricks, and illusions, and mechanics.” Jim gives Sebastian a big smile, reaching into the cupboard to rummage for the nice tea that Sebastian makes (his own blend, apparently).

“I’m sure,” Sebastian says, dropping the hardcover on the countertop, making Jim jump in surprise and turn to shoot him a glare, to which Sebastian smiles mildly, “That all of the stuff in this book is complete nonsense as well. I mean, it’s not like you can prove all of it. These images are clearly photoshopped.”

“Wh-What!?” Jim exclaims, falling for the obvious bait but too deeply ingrained in argumentation and having suffered for a PhD in astrophysics to resist, “You’re not _serious_ , it’s _obviously_ all real, Sebastian!”

Rolling his eyes, Sebastian crosses the kitchen to lean in and press a kiss to Jim’s mouth, still open in shock that Sebastian would do something like question the reality of planets. “All real,” he agreed, concentrating hard for a moment to slide the jar of tea forward on the shelf and to touch Jim’s still reaching fingertips. 


	5. Ace of Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim learns the basics of potion brewing. 
> 
> Ace of Swords - breakthroughs, new ideas, mental clarity, truth; "This sword has the ability to cut through deception and find truth. It indicates that one is about to experience a moment of breakthrough."

Sebastian's favorite place in London is probably his own kitchen.

He's spent years cultivating the space into something entirely his own. Said room is tidy and bright, the ceiling cluttered with hanging dried herbs, and the backs of the counters lined with jars of hard-won rarer ingredients. The cabinets are painted a cheerful (if slightly sloppy) teal, and he has a bluetooth speaker set up on the windowsill for when he wants to jam while cooking. Settling into the rhythm of creation is easy there, whether Seb is making something mundane or arcane. It's incredibly peaceful.

Or at least, it usually is. 

"So, do you ever wind up with eye of newt in your omelette?" Jim blinks up at Sebastian slowly from the breakfast bar, his eyes big and guileless. "Just on accident, I mean, since you don't have labels on anything." 

The witch raises an eyebrow at him and finishes tying his apron strings into a bow. "It's good protein," he deadpans, and throws his apron spare at Jim, who just barely manages to grab it in time, "and they pop like boba pearls, too, so that's nice.

The man who's been haunting an increasing amount of Seb's waking hours stares at him intently. "...I hate that I can't tell if you're joking." 

Sebastian has to bite back a laugh. "Come on, have a _little_ faith in my professional integrity. The yarn tying the herbs are color coded," he gestures upwards, "and I'd be a disgrace if I couldn't tell my ingredients apart after gathering them by hand." Here he gestures to the jars lining the backs of the counters. He elects not to mention the tiny stick-on dots he's put on the bottoms, just in case. Jim still looks skeptical, so he adds, "Also, I keep cooking ingredients separate, because I'm not insane. Come on, if you're going to be helping, you need to put that on."

Jim holds the yellow fabric away from him distastefully. The jaunty _Just Kitchen Witchin'_ decal stares back at him, expectant. "I don't think so. Also, I said _observe_ , not assist. I'm not actually going to be taking part in this madness. I'll leave it to the expert," he says sweetly.

Seb takes stock of his knife block and selects two specimens, a large and wickedly sharp chef's knife and a smaller paring knife. "If you're in my kitchen and not otherwise occupied stumbling over cleaning devices, you're going to help. Besides, aren't you curious? Isn't that logical mind of yours just dying to catch me pulling some kind of trick?" His voice gets muffled and echoey as he ducks into his kettle/pots cabinet. "The more involved you are, the closer you get to look."

By the time he straightens again, Jim is standing in front of the stove and rolling his sleeves up. Yellow is very much not his color, but Seb keeps his mouth shut on that front, even if said mouth is curved into a slightly smug smile.

"Alright! So then, a few ground rules..."

Seb rambles through safety instructions as he gathers ingredients and supplies, instructing Jim to wash his hands and get him the big blue cutting board from the corner drawer. To his surprise, Jim actually follows through without complaint, even letting him get through the list of ingredients they're going to use and their effects. The peace does _not_ last after Seb casually rattles off how variables like temperature, the current lunar phase, and the amount of magic used to brew said potion affects the outcome.

"Just accept that I know more about this than you, Jim, arrogance really isn't the way to gain new knowledge," Sebastian advises, utterly zen as the brunett's anger increases. He's in his zone now, carefully adjusting the height of the flame under the kettle. "As a man of math and science, you should be familiar with the consequences of believing you're a paragon of truth with nothing more to learn…"

"I fucking _hate_ you."

Seb looks over his shoulder and chokes on a fit of laughter he can't quite contain. Jim looks murderous, dark eyes narrowed into slits. No clever response this time, though, so the witch tries to pull himself together enough to tell Jim how thickly to chop the toadstool, and why consistency is important. 

He momentarily regrets the decision to hand Jim a knife, and he's never seen anyone look so suspicious of a mushroom, but the man follows his instructions to the letter. 

They fall into a shockingly easy rhythm after a while, (slightly snarky) questions and (also slightly snarky) answers flowing between them as they work together. Seb, a solitary creature by nature, expected to be far more bothered by having someone in his favorite place. Seb, familiar with the man by this point, expected Jim to last a few minutes before wandering off, bored, to wherever he goes when he's not bothering innocent people, or to spend the whole time with his eyes glued on what Seb is doing, but he stays through the whole brewing process, and Sebastian only catches him staring at his hands a few times. 

(The stirring of the cauldron without any visible instrument drives him _mad_ , but after the fifth time Seb simply answers 'magic', Jim stops asking. He has no bloody idea how the man earned a doctorate, being so willfully oblivious.)

There's even a moment at the end when Sebastian, pointedly lounging feet away against the breakfast bar, actually really thinks Jim is going to _get it._ When the shorter man sprinkles in the last ingredient, a few tablespoons of powdered rose, and watches the indistinctly brown liquid bloom into an impossible, hyper-saturated cyan as the scent of petrichor floods the room. 

It happens instantly. It happens without any possible interference from Sebastian. Jim's mouth parts. Seb can see the shock in his eyes, the wonder as he peers into the container, a few quiet strains of impossible, delighted laughter bubbling up. For a moment, he looks like a giddy child, and Seb feels warmth flooding his chest.  
  
He can't tell if the following "How in the world did you manage to make it _do that?_ " is Jim fucking with him or not, but if it is, _it fucking works._


End file.
